#my heart is hurting right now

[dear-someone-letterstomyself]

Y’all gotta remember that Dean in UWMA did tell Pharm that Win and Team weren’t joining them for the morning activity because they “had a rough night” we thought he was just being cheeky… turns out we were fools and this is actually what he meant…

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Council of lovefools.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[aquapede]

oh damsel we're really in it now

[kelin-is-writing]

I’m so not okay… I’m not okay at all actually…

[hamartia-grander]

Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

[bruh-myguy-what]

I’ll never forget you,

My Love…

[shima-draws]

Now that I've had time to Absorb mentally. Several things.

-Luffy going from overeating to swearing off eating entirely. Homie that CANNOT be good for you. And the fact that he's willing to not eat unless it's Sanji's food...that's so. INCREDIBLY significant. Bc it's been very clearly established how much Luffy LOVES food. His stomach is literally a black hole. Eating gives him strength and makes him happy. He enjoys food so much he steals it off other people's plates. He's so impatient when it comes to meals that he'll sneak into the kitchen to try and mooch before it's ready. And now he's refusing all that...for Sanji. He's going to sit there and starve himself, even though he doesn't like being hungry, even though food is one of the most important things to him, even though he has a CHOICE to eat and he CAN eat but he's not going to because it's not food Sanji made for him. The fact that food is such a central part of Luffy's character and who he is, and that we know he never does anything he doesn't want to do, it just makes me. GODDD. Why is he like this why are they like this I'm insane

-THE FACT THAT THEY LITERALLY DID THE MONTAGE OF ALL THEIR MEMORIES TOGETHER. JESUS CHRIST. That was a low blow. And also the gayest shit I've ever seen. Yeah let's just drive it in even further how important these two are to each other and how much it's tearing them both apart that Sanji's leaving by showing all their wonderful moments together. I was literally full on SOBBING at this point. Fucking RUDE smh

-Sanji being SO self sacrificial makes me want to cry I CANNOT with him rn,, It's to the point where he feels like he can't even rely on his nakama because he just wants to protect them. Like he could have easily told them what was going on. But he decided he'd chase them away, for their own safety, because Zeff's already in danger and Sanji can't risk losing his crew too. He couldn't bear to see any of them get hurt by the family that's been tormenting him for years. So he hurts HIMSELF by pushing them away. He loves them so so much that he's willing to cut ties with them completely and make them hate him so that they'll stay SAFE. GOD. Except Luffy sees right through that act bc he knows Sanji too well 😭 The fact that even Nami didn't realize that Sanji was just trying to protect them makes me so emo she really did think he'd been lying to them all along...GIRL have more faith in your nakama!!

-Luffy refusing to give up on Sanji, not ever, I'm going to explode, that is HIS nakama HIS cook and he won't stop until he can bring him home. BASHING my head against the wall

-Also I already talked about The Line in my last post but here I'll share my tags

I need to be put down I think I am so unwell rn

[personishfive]

in which ann takamaki is there

[jaskier-more-like-saskier]

Things that hurt

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

[etheries1015]

Hello there! I was wondering if you could write a Meleanor x reader.

It could be any kind of scenario i don't really have specific request. Sorry if my english is bad, it's not my first language btw.

Have a nice day/afternoon/evening!!

Sorry for the late response! Slowly but surely getting to my inbox after my little hiatus. heuheuheu.

I like this!! I can't say I've seen a Meleanor X reader yet! I love Mama Draconia and I too would want to court this woman. heuehueheu. thank you for this request!

Meleanor X reader - Flower crowns

General warnings: Gender neutral reader, taking place when you two were younger. Not very age specific, just classify it as first love!

TW: None! Just fluff. and lightning. but tis' what comes with falling in love with this hot headed fae <3

The princess always left you in awe. Her beautiful black long hair and marks of a dragon across her forehead always left you enamored- her beauty was beyond compare to that of any other fae you set your eyes upon. Although she did have a temper...and often attempted to strike you with lightning every time your feeble pick-up lines were below her standards...

However, the only thing you could think of as you watched the fae princess sitting against the tree was how ethereal she would look with vibrant flowers adorning her slick black hair and midnight horns. Meleanor was asleep against the tree, while you were now sitting on the grass a bit of a distance away with your legs folded and flowers in your grasp.

You wouldn't classify as being the best flower crown weaver to exist. It took a few times of unraveling and re-wrapping, even having to venture out into the woods to grab more flowers. Finally, you have finished creating your masterpiece. A flower crown with a vibrant variety of colors. Forget-me-nots, daisies, petals from peonies, marigolds, begonias, and the ever-so-popular red roses and thorns to match. You glanced down at your handiwork and looked back up to the sleeping fae. Even underneath the dusk of the setting sun, she was breathtakingly stunning. You crawled up to the fae crown in hand, before lifting it carefully above her sleeping form and setting it gently upon her head careful not to rouse her from her deep sleep.

You simply basked in this moment, watching Meleanors chest raise slightly and parted lips exhale gently. You were surprised when she hadn't woken up with your rustling, so you decided she must truly be exhausted from her duties (of constantly running away from her knight's eyes simply to be with you). You also found yourself yawning, removing your own jacket to cover the princess before leaning against the other side of the tree and lulling into sleep rather quickly.

You were woken up by lightning.

It startled you awake, but your reflexes were fast enough to dodge before it made contact. Looking up you saw a tall, angry Meleanor standing above you with her hands upon her hips and a scowl upon her face with bright rosey cheeks to match.

"Explain what this is," She abruptly said, pointing to the crown on her head to which a few petals had fallen to her black cloak and royal dress. You pursed your lips then smiled, showing her a toothy grin.

"A flower crown," You replied, "You look lovely, like a gorgeous blooming garden. The flowers truly do flatter you, my princess."

You were struck by lightning. Again. And she missed, again.

"Save me from your silly theatrics and cease your horrible flirting!" Although the words she spoke were exasperated, you could tell by the blush on her cheeks that she did not, in fact, dislike what transpired. Your words affected her greatly, she wasn't sure how to handle her strong emotions and beating heart. You chuckled at this and stood up, your hands hiding behind your back. This movement did not go unnoticed by the princess.

Meleanor aggressively grabbed your arm and pulled it forward. Upon seeing the first hand, she grabbed the other one to do the same. They were riddled in cuts and bruises from handling the thorned roses and picking of flowers, her eyes widening at this revelation.

"Come here," She grunted, pulling your arm and dragging you to the castle doors.

"You know i'm not allowed in the castle," You sighed, "I'm just a commoner. They will kick me out as soon as I step foot inside of there. AND you're gonna get in trouble with your parents." Meleanor huffed and shot you an annoyed glance, grey clouds overhead an obvious marker of her mood.

"Do you not think I am already aware of this fact? I have many ways of getting inside the castle away from prying eyes. Now shut your mouth and trust me!"

"Awe...does the princess have a soft spot for poor me? Are you going to kiss my wounds all better, Meleanor?"

Although another blast of lightning interrupted your incredulous flirting, she pursed her lips and paused in the middle of heading toward her secret entrance.

"...Perhaps just this once." You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head in confusion, mouth hung slightly open. You couldn't see what expression the princess held, for she was turned away whilst her hand remained on your arm trembling ever so slightly. Before you could inquire her statement, she continued.

"As a reward for this...'flower crown'...I shall grant you your wish. Just this once!" The fae took a deep breath in and turned around to face you, face red as a rose and puckered lips she placed them against your own. You gasped in shock at the sudden contact, unable to form a proper reaction before she was already turned back around and pulling you towards the castle at a rapid pace. You smiled fondly staring at the rambunctious fae in front of you, the flowers of the crown you weaved fluttering with every step she took.

If only she could hear just how loud your heart was beating.

~~~

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good morning, Sleepyhead.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[cupiidzbow]

pollen @qilinkisser hitting me with a one hit insta-kill once again. I never talk abt my mlp ships i feel so crazy rn …… THANK YOU SOSO MUCH POLLEN. I FEEL SO CRAZY THUS IS SO CUTE ….. IM LITERALLY OVER THE MOON RN … AUGGHHGGHH

[sherlock-is-ace]

I need to make one thing clear and I know this post won't change anything but I still feel the need to clarify

I won't ever reply to asks about donations (unless they come from my friends or people I know).

In this site you can never be sure if they're bots or real people, and that breaks my heart, but even then, as a rule, I will just delete the ask.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

thinking about 4halo again and dying

they just. they used to be so sweet together. and then the election arc managed to genuinely turn them against each other (and bad is still affected by being caged in the museum) and i would NOT have been surprised if a rebellion had started within the next few weeks after their last fight and. they used to be friends and then they almost destroyed each other

and then the eggs went missing

and there are so many parallels between them, but one of the biggest parallels is how they're both protectors. they both protected the eggs (and, when he became president, forever extended that protection to the other islanders) but the eggs went missing and they had to put all of that aside. Forever was quicker to put it down than Bad was (it felt like only a very temporary truce, from Bad's end), but they put their problems on hold, because their eggs. were gone.

and another parallel. the destruction. both of them with their plans to cause ruin because then, maybe, theyll get their kids back. bad caused most of the grieving arc damage directly, and got aypierre and antoine to help him. he dug holes in the ground. he placed mines everywhere and leapt into them. he started the lavacasting process of the fed building (and was interrupted by admins, so he stopped, but philza and fit were still right to laugh at him lmaoo). he drilled a hole through the side of the federation office from a huge distance away. he has chosen to hurt his friends and himself to get the eggs back. whatever the cost.

forever destroyed the island. or he planned to destroy the island. or he was interrupted just before he destroyed the island or or or. I don't know. but it was big, and it was bad. bad enough that the feds had to step in and forcefully drug him, and kickstart the happy pills arc.

and the happy pills arc..... oughghghgh as fucking awful as it was for their characters to experience i genuinely truly think that it saved them from each other. when he was first told about forever being fucked up bad was still in the "i need to kick his butt" mindset, and was all ready for an excuse to kill forever. and then he saw forever. and the first proposal happened. and bad was angry and he was sad and upset and he was careful. forever tried to kill him. bad decided to save him. forever kept trying to marry him. forever kept taking the pills. forever was so scared of his own anger and all of the damage he could and would have caused to his family that he kept taking drugs that kept him so out of his mind he hallucinated his son was just sleeping safely at his house.

and they both tried to kill each other. and they both failed.

and bad showed phil and cellbit (and tubbo) the item scanner that dapper discovered, which could destroy him, because nothing else was working. because they needed to save forever. because bad was reminded by then that forever was a victim of the federation instead of just a mouthpiece for it. and then when forever woke up he saw bad, suffering, and so excited to see him awake.

and now they're here on opposite sides again with forever projecting his protection urges onto the fed worker in bad's basement and bad frustrated that he isn't being believed and his evil plans of giving ron lemons apology brownies is being interrupted and. look at them. soft "i hate you" and the appreciation room and bad's quiet heartbreak when he learned about forever being missing and the "i miss you" book bad got mad at because it asked him not to torture fed workers. does anyone hear me im so ill about them. do you understand they care about each other so much and the happy pills arc reminded them of that. forever realized bad is colourblind and bad assumed forever was poisoning him and then forever helped bad cheat on another colourblindness test and forever was giving bad flowers and bad was accepting them and accepted that he was colourblind despite his previously constant denial and! i don't know if im being comprehensible and i dont really care i will be honest i just need you to know i am frothing at the mouth like a rabid little beast. they are a TRAGEDY of miscommunication and external pressure but they love so so much. platonic or romantic or qpp they CARE and it tears me to shreds

[thehumanwiki]

Susan Foreman nation, we lost 😔